He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. ‘Cover her, men. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. She dare not risk it. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. " "I've had the hard work to do, at all events," rejoined Jack, "But I won't complain. ” The cab rumbled off. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. The chair is in the veranda.
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